


Sextches

by PastelPrinceling



Series: Gilded Tombs [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: M/M, Mad King Ryan, Mention of other Ryan ships, Minecraft!AU, king!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 00:22:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7337086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelPrinceling/pseuds/PastelPrinceling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon is an artist that the King Haywood has taken a fondness to lately. He often times asks Jon to join him in his chamber while he fucks another, asks him to draw their time together. Ryan loves Jon's talent, and Jon always gets a little something out of it as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sextches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aledagio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aledagio/gifts).



> Sex Sketches, get it?
> 
> Took ten and a half years, super late for what it was for, but finally I can post it. Proud of you Lara for the hard grind at work you've been pulling, covering for your manager and working hard for RTX. I hope this lifts your spirits! <3
> 
> (Takes place in the same universe as "All That Glitters Is Not Gold")

Fingers carded through his blonde locks, damp with sweat, pushing them back from his own face. He licked over reddened lips, mouth still slack as he panted to catch his breath. His eyes, predatory and dark, but sated. Hickies lining his throat and soft red lines of the drag of nails on his arms, his shoulders, desperation marking his body.

Jon swallowed hard and Ryan heard it, looking up when it drew his attention. The king’s eyes settled on his painter sitting on the plush stool in the middle of the room, half hidden behind his easel, and he grinned, giddy.

“Si-”

Jon started, but Ryan putting a finger to his own lips silenced him, even from across the room.

He reached to pet down Michael’s chest, rubbing up and down it as the man under him panted with half lidded eyes. Fingers traced over nipples he’d bitten, up along the length of his throat, brushing along the holes he’d left when he’d drunk from him. Ryan’s hand cupped his jaw and thumbed over the apples of his cheeks, admiring the flush there.

“I’ve tired you out, have I?” His voice was whisper soft, a coo that curled like silk over Michael’s mind, easing him even farther into the sleep that was trying to drag him under.

“Could go ‘nother couple rounds,” Michael argued, his words slurring a little, the cheek the king was not caressing gently pressed to the pillow.

“Later,” Ryan insisted, moving his hand farther until he was pushing fingers into his curls, pulling locks away from his forehead and letting them curl through his fingers to fall against his forehead again. “Later, sweet cherub.”

Michael pouted at the nickname, turning his face into the king’s hand, reaching to hold his arm until he could skim his lips along the pulse at his wrist. He eased after that, relaxing in the furs and silks on the settee set in front of the window.

He was asleep even before Ryan had unsheathed himself from his ass, which the king did as gently as possible. Romps with the king always wore him out in the most satisfying way. Ryan pulled his handkerchief from the pocket of his jacket on the chair beside the settee to clean up a little of the mess, enough so it wouldn’t stick in the furs under him, but left him with the mess on his stomach.

Ryan stood up, stretching as he did, drawing out the lines of his own body, the coils of muscles, no doubt all in good show for his artist. The king groaned a satisfied sound, shaking himself out before his feet padded across the great rug and around to run his hands over Jon’s shoulders. He leaned in and around him to look at the canvas. There were a lot of quick sketches, rough bodies tangled in a slew of poses, captured in the moment and with the same feverish passion. He hummed a satisfied sound against Jon’s ear.

“These are wonderful as always, dove.”

“You flatter me, Your Majesty,” Jon answered, priding himself on the fact his voice didn’t shake under the king’s attention, or this naked body draped behind him. One of his big hands smoothed down Jon’s arm, the other rubbing down his back gently. The sudden touching and affection had his skin on fire. He could feel Ryan’s heart thumping in the heavy, impossibly slow manner against his back.

The hand on his back came back up and over his shoulder. Fingers line his neck and goosebumps prickled across his skin. It made Ryan laugh quietly, like wine and silk, lavish.

“Wonderful, just wonderful. You captured the rushed passion. How do you do it?”

Jon flushed a little, exhaling a laugh, “It just comes naturally, sire. Gift of the Gods.”

“You certainly are,” Ryan purred, removing himself from Jon’s body, taking a few steps to stand beside him. Jon looked up at him standing beside his stool, looking at Michael asleep on the couch. He did his best not to glance at more than the king’s face, tried not to take in the tempting lines of his chest and hips, his cock and those thighs. He kept his eyes on his solid jaw and the softness to his eyes, under his mask of power and prowess. He was both of those things, but in the years he had taken to assert himself king of the land, he’d learned that a stronger and more stoic facade suited his needs much better than the younger boy excited about books and magic.

Jon hadn’t known the king for very long, only a few years, but he knew him intimately enough, and he knew people well enough, to know these things about the king. He’d seen him lower his guard around those he cared for, especially Geoff, his oldest friend. He still held himself in high regard around Jon, but much less so than he used to. Especially considering he brought him into his chambers to watch him fuck some of his lovers, and enjoy Jon for himself on occasion.

“My lord?”

“Do you have somewhere you need to be this afternoon, Jon?”

Jon met his eye and they were soft as the sea, clear and calm. He’d seen them darken with storms and typhoons, he’d seen them red like fresh blood, bright enough to glow and cast shadows over his cheeks.

“Nothing is more important than if you need me, my king.”

“Ryan, please, Jon. You know that you can address me as Ryan within these chambers,” the man settled a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently, “We are just men in these walls, my dove.”

Watching him, Jon blinked slowly, nodding. He let out a slow breath, one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Just men.”

There were times he questioned the king’s status as human, and times he was certain he wasn’t. But in a way, it felt good to find a place in the castle, and in his life, where he could simply be. Without titles and obligations and expectations. He could enjoy his passions, the art and the sex, and the feeling of closeness of bodies. The softness, the tenderness, and the rush of excitement in his belly when he could see the power behind the king’s eyes, or the heat of arousal, his own and everyone else’s. It came off them in waves and was intoxicating.

It was exhilarating, really, knowing things were so different here. For all of them. They were given the opportunity to know Ryan more intimately, for Ryan, to know that he was an even more complex majesty than his court and his people would ever know. They looked on him with the awe he deserved, but it was only those he allowed in his chambers that really saw his vulnerabilities, his insecurities, his soft underbelly. (Both figuratively and literally.)

They would see the way he cupped jaws, thumbing over cheeks and lips. Ryan would lay men to bed with him, running hands down bodies and worshiping them. Kissing throats and nipples, the swell of breasts and thighs, the tips of fingers and each rib. Hip bones and cocks and cunts alike. Those he brought into his chambers were taken care of, however they needed. And they took care of Ryan in return. Some nights were soft and sweet with hushed words and candles. And some nights the fire would roar in the place and they would fuck until the sun rose. Gentle love bites and goosebumps across arms. Fingers leaving bruises and the marks of teeth. Each one of them brought him something different, and each one received something unique in return.

Michael brought his supple lips and freckled skin, the curls of auburn hair. A voice like silk when he moaned and when he growled his demands. Stamina like a hound and thick thighs, good for wrapping around hips or to keep him up to bend a lover over and fuck deep and hard. An eagerness to please and a feisty, playful side. He had a wicked grin and his gasps were like the sweetest wine. Even if he was quick to grow impatient.

Jeremy brought a flexibility his frame belied, strong arms and a sweet, doting nature. He had a sly side of course, no man Ryan invited into his chambers was without a cheeky smirk, but he was vigilant and attentive, the first to see warning signs and stop things when they were pushed too far. He valued communication, foreplay and aftercare, fingers carding through hair and feeding grapes by the fire.

Gavin had a lithe body and a needy, greedy nature. He was quick to beg and it was like gold off his tongue, beautiful and sharp, glittering. Thin hips and long limbs and an ass that would redden so beautifully with a few good slaps. When he was not the one the attention was on, he did very well to work others up, cooing dirty things in their ears to make them shiver and moan. Tall and lanky, he often stole the silk robes to lounge by the fire after a good fuck, too overwhelmed by sensation to cuddle.

Ray was stubborn and hard to break, but would take control of a situation easily when it suited him. His favorite was pinning wrists and riding cocks until he was breathless, coming hard and clenching tight. Dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes. Thick lashes and a thick ass, he was the smallest of the men, and in his own quiet way, the most dangerous. In bed, that came through, and it was exhilarating.

Jack was heavy and hard, a big frame that his work as a knight had hardened and molded nicely. He was a big man from his arms around slender shoulders, to his thighs wide enough to settle two, to his hands, enough to wrap almost around waists. A solid frame and a capacity to bring a gentle hand or a firm one, whatever is needed of him. A sweet voice regardless, even when whispering and grunting obscenities.

Geoff, Ryan’s oldest and truest and most loyal. Geoff preferred things lazy and slow, deep and lasting for hours with so much kissing. A myriad of tattoos and stories and sleepy eyes. A gruff voice and a love for laughter in between his moans. A drink or not, but an easy man to unravel in the arms of; in tune to a lover's wants and needs, sometimes before they even express them.

And then there was Jon.

Jon was Ryan’s newest lover, the most recent honored with entry into his rooms, and latest to be gifted with such wonderful time away from the world. He was not yet like the others, but he was not blind either. He did not know if he would accept Ryan’s gift if it were offered, unsure of his place in the world enough as it was to go about accepting grand gestures he’d never be able to take back.

The king said that Jon was beautiful and wonderful and had much to offer, just as everyone did. It was hard to remember that sometimes when his own quiet insecurities nagging at him in the dead of the night. Times when he found himself alone in his bed, huddled under the blankets and staring out over the stone floor, half finished paintings and the dying embers of the fireplace.

By the king’s own word, Jon’s eyes were a stormy ocean, dangerous and beautiful. Hair like waves and a silver tongue. An attitude that seemed out of place at a first glance, but was rightly in good taste for a man like Jon. Lovely thighs, progress on trimming himself as he wanted, progress Ryan said he was proud of. But one of Ryan’s favorite things about Jon, he claimed, was the high, breathy, desperate noises that fluttered from his chest when Ryan’s tongue was deep in his cunt.

“You seem distracted, dove.”

Jon’s eyes darted up, focusing on the king’s face. He blinked quickly and looked away even quicker, pursing his lips tight.

“I’m sorry, Ryan,” he paused, and it was clear he put effort into remembering to call the king by his name instead of his title, “I was simply thinking.”

He tilted his head a little, blonde brows arched in a questioning expression, “About what, Jon?”

Looking back up at the great man standing beside him, his eyes drifted to Michael still asleep on the couch. He would be there for a good long while, especially after such a good fuck. Feeling expectant eyes on him, he knew he couldn’t lie, and he wondered idly, if Ryan might be able to tell if he did lie.

“About all the men who warm your bed and all the different things I’ve seen in them.”

“My dick isn’t _that_ impressive, Jon,” Ryan grinned.

Jon huffed a laugh, looking up at him through lashes with a small grin, “I beg to differ, Your Grace.”

Leaning in a little, Ryan tilted Jon’s head up to look at him better before he asked quietly, “And my tongue, little dove?”

Jon’s face flushed and he cleared his throat with a laugh, “N-not quite as good, but it’s hard to define when it’s still better than anything else I’ve known.”

Ryan chuckled, slipping between Jon and the canvas of sketches he’d done of his session with Michael, standing in front of him now, thumbing over the height of Jon’s cheek. “You flatter me.”

The painter lifted his hands to run them over Ryan’s hips and stomach and up his chest, letting out a slow breath as he turned his face into the man’s hand, letting his eyes fall closed. Ryan lowered himself to his knees, settling himself in front of Jon’s stool. His hands traced over the man’s body, parting his thighs with a slow hand, giving Jon time to open his legs on his own just as much, and stop him if he needed.

Jon’s hands smoothed up his chest and shoulders, along his neck, thumbing against his slow, impossibly slow pulse, and farther still until they carded through Ryan’s long thin hair. Ryan tilted his head back and for a moment, just a moment, there was a man before him, just as he claimed. A man, and only a man. Not a king, not something magical, not something powerful, and certainly not something hungry. For a moment he was only a man under Jon’s hand and eye.

But then he opened his eyes and Jon’s breath caught in his throat to see the king’s lips slack and his eyes alight with a red glow. He’d seen it before, quite a few times, but it never ceased to make something inside him stir. Something he didn’t have words for. Something powerful.

Ryan’s voice was husky when he asked gently, “May I?”

His fingers were hovering over the tie of Jon’s pants, the bottom of his tunic pushed up just a little, enough to show a sliver of pale skin. Jon’s mouth was dry, his belly warm with want and he nodded quickly, words a little hoarse, “Of course. Please.”

Deft fingers pulled the ties and undid Jon’s pants. He let Jon stand for a moment to shimmy his pants and underwear down to his knees, and Ryan pushed them down to his ankles. His hands pet over Jon’s thighs, gripping the meat of them gently, before slowly, ever so slowly, pushing them apart at the knees.

Sighing softly, Jon let him do so, and shifted his hips so that Ryan could get a good look of his puffy pink snatch. Thick fingers reached to stroke over the folds, and the labia set on only the left. He chuckled to see it, pinching it between his fingers gently to make Jon shiver. His fingers trailed up a little farther to stroke over his clit, rubbing along it in slow circles before he turned his wrist. He let two fingers tuck down and trace the line of his hole, thumb taking up place teasing his clit.

“G-Gods, Ryan,” Jon shivered, pulling and pushing at the king’s hair a little. Ryan licked his lips and goosebumps prickled up Jon’s arms. He huffed, “Bon appetit then, my liege.” Unlike the way he addressed the king with titles, this one had a lilt of sarcasm and teasing to it. It made Ryan’s hungry eyes flick up to look at his treat’s face.

The flicker of red in them made his cunt throb.

Ryan wasted no time, leaning himself in after that to lap at his folds, already warm and wet, having worked him up with words and subtle touches. Jon had always been easy to get going. He wrapped one hand around to hold his ass, the other stayed in between Jon’s legs, two fingers easing into him alongside his tongue lavishing him with attention, licking and suckling at his labia and clit.

Jon let his legs open a bit more to enjoy the feeling, one hand with knuckles white with his grip on the wooden stool, the other with fingers fisted tight in Ryan’s locks. The feeling of Ryan’s tongue was always intoxicating, warm and refreshing. It was something Jon had never felt with another, and something Ryan’s other lovers had mentioned as well, in passing. He didn’t understand it, but it felt too good for him to care.

“H-how-how are you so good?”

Eyes flicked up but Ryan didn’t answer, crooking his fingers in Jon’s pussy until they found the rough patch of nerves, swiping over it a few times to make him coo and groan, letting his head fall back. Ryan chuckled and the vibrations and the audacity to laugh while he was doing all this made Jon’s face flush. It went unsaid, but the answer to the question was simple: practice.

Shaking his own curls out of his face, he let himself ease and enjoy the feeling of Ryan’s mouth on his clit, and his fingers deep in his cunt. It felt good, but he knew Ryan was just getting started. And when he pulled his fingers free and pulled Jon’s legs up and over his shoulders, the artist hooked his ankles and groaned. The feeling of the king’s tongue pushing up into him, thick and hot, his breath even hotter, there was nothing like it. Like some mock of a kiss, Ryan ate him out, gladly and attentively, eyes closed to enjoy himself.

Jon carded locks through his fingers, gripping a little, tugging a little when it felt nice. He groaned and moaned, the noises high and breathy.

Ryan stopped for only a moment, his mouth and chin shiny from Jon’s slick cunt, and grinned up at him, panting a little, “You always sing so beautifully, little dove.”

He buried his face between Jon’s legs again after that, and when he’d had his fill, he curled three fingers into his tight hole, pumping them smooth and deep with how wet he was. He turned all the hunger onto Jon’s clit and the man started to shake apart in his grip with a beautiful song, a chorus of the king’s name, and praises to their gods above.

The sloppy sound of his fingers and both of their panting made Jon’s head spin, made him flush to think others might hear and Ryan eased off, and Jon could only grin weakly at the sight of Ryan licking his fingers clean, though his face was still tacky with his fluids.

Of course the guards and the maids and the council all knew that whatever happened behind the king’s door was his business, and it was infrequent that it was something other than sex. They knew to leave him to his business.

There were things about each and every man who laid with the king that he loved. Unique and beautiful in their own ways and Ryan had said in the quiet hours he enjoyed quite a lot about the artist. His passions, his pleasure, and when Jon doubted himself, he remembered that the greatest, the strongest, the most powerful man in the kingdom, and maybe the world, found enjoyment in not only his body, but in his talents and his voice and his company best of all.

Ryan’s praises and kind words, his adoration of Jon as a whole was what chased away the thoughts that crept through the corners of his mind in the dark nights. It’s what had him holding onto the embers, knowing they could blossom into a fire with just a little care. And it’s what reassured him that the muse came and went, that the sun would rise again, and that at the end of the day, he was himself within these walls and with the king and his many lovers.

He was himself, and he was loved.


End file.
